Then Do Not Think
by Spirit of Gray
Summary: The Doctor is in a bad place. He tries to hold his demons at bay, but loses every time. Set after TATM: The Angels Take Manhattan, and before TS: The Snowmen. Trigger Warnings for self-harm. Rated T for violence and some course language. Contains the Paternoster Gang, that's Strax, Madame Vastra, and Jenny Flint. Alludes for what the Doctor was up to during his "Dark Times".


"Cogito, ergo sum." "Sed non esse volo!"

* * *

It was late October, 1890, and the Doctor had not truly escaped anything he had been hoping to.

_NottheDoctorstopcallingyourselfthatmoretheMurdererorMonsterorEvilOneorTroubleneedtostopcallingyourselfsomethinggoodwhenyouarenotgood_

He had arrived in Victorian London late the previous year, when he had been too catatonic to take care of himself and the TARDIS had taken matters to herself to ensure his survival.

_Leaveittohertotakecareofyoubecauseyou'retooweakhelplessworthlesstodoanythingcorrectlyyourselfandyouknowit_

It was getting cold, but the Doctor didn't mind. He just wanted to go back to the TARDIS, home, but she forced him outside everyday now for an hour, always during the later hours, trying to get something out of him.

Though he wasn't quite sure what. It wasn't like she could speak with him.

_Ofcourseyouwouldn'ttoostupidmurderedtheonewhosacrificesendlesslyforyouputsupwithyoubecausenobodyshouldyoumonster_

His ingrained, natural biological clock told him it was around half an hour short of when he would be allowed back within her safe walls (away from this primitive time) even when his claustrophobia made it hard to walk through the doors, in the irrational fear that it the dimensions of her would be the same.

_Shouldbeafraidbutdon'tshowitTricksterGoblinmostfearedthinginallcreationlockedwithinthePandoricauntilsomeunfortunatechildcalledbacktoherowndemise_

He decided to spend the rest of his time locked out to wander around the alleys until it was time to go back and he could avoid humanity altogether.

_Toocowardlyyoubastardyouneedtostayawayfromtheminthefirstplacebutyou'retooproudtojustcurlupinacornerlikethepatheticcreatureyouare_

So he turned his course from the larger and more used streets and to the back alleys where he would be harder to find by those who called him their friend.

_Theydoitonlyoutofpityandignoranceiftheyknewwhatamonsteryouaretheywouldkillyoubutthatwouldbetooquickyouneedtobetorturedasyourpenance_

After all, there were so many alleys in London, and though they seemed to find him more often recently, they didn't find him all the time.

Which was good. Them not being burdened by him was very good. It was great, even. Then, eventually, they might stop trying to contact him and forget him. That was one of the best things he had thought of since he came to Victorian London.

The fact that they were still trying and finding him every once in a while wasn't good though. That thought was a kill-joy for the happy thought that had proceeded it.

_Thefactthattheytryisbadsoverybadandtheycallyoufriendwhichisdisgustingandrepulsivebecausefreaksandpsychopathsdon'thavefriendstheyhavevictims_

He didn't like the fact that they tried to contact him and that made him walk faster. While he walked, he passed two young children, illuminated in the moonlight, their clothes torn and shivering in the cold. The younger one (a young girl, just a toddler), had a deep bruise on her face. Deeply angered, the Doctor looked at it, finding the pattern of infliction looking greatly like one of a fist.

So he took some money out of his pockets (only a few coins) and placed them beside the children.

_YoucouldhavepreventedthisfromhappeningatallyoucouldhavemadechildabuseillegalinBritainagesagobutyoudidn'twanttochangesuchaterriblethinginhistoryselfishbastard_

Then he stole away, not looking back.

He entered another alleyway and looked around this one first. He didn't want to find another homeless existence and have sympathy break through his apathetic façade and risk having his friends see it.

_Self-centeredsoconcernedwithappearenceandnowyou'recallingthemfriendslikesomethinglikeyouthat'snotevenapersoncouldhavefriendsstopinsultingthem_

He had once felt them watching him just before they appeared, trying to see what he did with himself when he thought they weren't around.

Of course, that had happened several times, and only half the time he knew, so he was always cautious.

The other half...

_Theytellyousoyouwon'tthinkthatyoucangetawaywith_that_becauseit'spatheticjustlikeyouandtheywantyoutobenotpatheticlikeyouwerebutyouneverwere_

Thinking about the circumstances of when they told him that they followed (when they said that they were proud), he was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to make it one of those times they wouldn't be proud.

_Theyshouldn'tbeproudinthefirstplaceunlessthey'remonsterslikeyoubutthey'renotandyoushould_show_themwhythyshouldn'tbeproud_

London was full of tools, even if the TARDIS refused to let anything that could be used as one inside of her and his friends searched him often to make sure he wasn't carrying any.

_Isn'tthatironicthatyoucan'tbetrustedwithanythingthatcancausepenanceandrepaymenttooccurlikeamadmanwhichyouareandtheyknowbutstillyoucallthemfriends_

His eyes scanned the area for anything that he could use.

Then he stopped himself.

_You'redoingsomethingwrongyoufool_

He didn't check to see if his friends were there first.

How stupid.

So he looked around the area and looked for signs that his friends were watching him with their surveillance cameras (which were anachronistic and made him nauseous but he didn't let them know) or by themselves which he couldn't tell whether that was better or worse.

If they took video, they could remind him of it later.

If they caught him in person, they would stop him and take care of him at that moment.

_Soit'sbettertonotgetcaughtatallnowtheyaren'thereandtherearenocamerasandyoushouldstart_

First, though, he would have to do it.

To do it, he would have to find a tool.

So he searched the ground again, looking for anything.

A knife to dig into his evil flesh.

Broken glass to remind him of the people he left in pieces.

Discarded salt so he could take the ice-pack in his medical kit and pay his dues with the grandest pain.

_Orfiretobringevengreaterandmorepermanentpainonethatwouldscarandleaveyouwithareminderofwhatamonsteryouareforever_

In the end, he found some broken glass.

It was beautiful, the glass. It had sharp edges and was quite clean, and it smelled quite a bit like alcohol; so they wouldn't get infected and his friends wouldn't be as angry with him for it.

_Thoughshouldn'ttheybeangrythatyouneedsuchavileyetwonderfulthingandthefactthatyou'reamonsterthatwillkillthemshouldmakethemangryaswellshouldn'tit_

They would be angry at him anyway, but the moment he slashed his arm (just below the elbow, so his weakness wouldn't be known to the world), he couldn't find it in himself to care. After all, the only time he was ashamed of his repayment was when they looked at him and treated his wounds and told him not to do it again.

And they weren't around, so they couldn't.

And better yet, the voice that plagued his mind and didn't speak in first-person like it was a separate entity was quiet.

So he cut himself again, going deeper this time, as his blood (not someone else's) ran down his arm and dripped onto the ground.

He was careful to avoid any arteries though. He would bleed out heavier but he wouldn't die, but his friends would call it a suicide attempt and that would be very bad.

So he was careful and cut a third time, and almost all of his lower arm was soaked in his blood and he started to feel light-headed but the voice was quiet and that was worth it.

"Another cut and you'll faint from blood loss."

_Damn, _he cursed internally. He had been caught.

Slowly, he turned to her, his eyes meeting hers defiantly.

However, they only met for a second. Madame Vastra just stepped closer, like she always did, and grabbed his tool from him.

The Madame then took out a Very flare gun and shot it into the air.

At least it wasn't an anachronism, like the other technologies they used.

It would probably only be a few minutes before Jenny and Strax showed up.

Finally, he took his eyes off of her and looked at the ground instead. The shame, though not at full-volume, was consuming his thoughts. He should be stronger than this. He shouldn't need to do this. Yet, he always did when the urge struck him and he had tools and no one was around to stop him.

The Madame's hand then came onto his shoulder (his right shoulder, opposite of the one he hurt), and she (not unkindly) forced him onto the ground and then moved her hand to his head, and thought soothing things to the Time Lord.

(Where she had learned he was a touch-telepath escaped his knowledge, though.)

Soon, as he had predicted, Strax arrived.

The Madame looked at him while he arrived and put a finger near her lips, to signify the need the quiet that the Doctor realized, he reacted best to when they didn't want his mind wandering.

So Strax pulled out his first-aid silently and started cleaning his wounds.

Then the Madame spoke softly, "Where is Jenny? She normally arrives before you."

The Sontaran, not quite understanding the need to be quiet other than not speaking, said in his normal voice, "He went to the area around the Doctor's ship to see if he was there."

Accepting this, the Madame sent her memories of that night to him.

The three went out and searched for him at the time he usually came down from his cloud, but couldn't find him (which was not unusual). So they parted ways and each took a flare gun and started looking separately. Then at nearly the moment he made his first cut, the Madame found him, and let him hurt himself just a bit more, to see what his intentions were.

The Doctor couldn't help but blurt out, "Why were you looking for me in the first place?"

The Madame put more pressure on the hand she had on his head, making it go forward a bit. The calming thoughts were still there, but another emotion was bleeding through. Was it anger? No, it wasn't sharp enough for that. It wasn't sharp at all, so it wasn't a rebuking emotion.

"We're worried."

The Doctor had no response to this, and the three remained quiet.

Jenny arrived quietly a few minutes later, just as quiet as the rest of them.

Of course, at that moment Strax decided to speak.

"Sir, your lacerations are deeper than ordinarily. I need to know what you used to have optimum results in your treatment."

The Madame responded for him, nodding at the discarded and bloody shard. "It's probably from a wine-bottle. It was soaked in alcohol, but days ago. It's cleaner than what he usually uses."

"But why did he go deeper than what he normally does?" Strax questioned, sounding confused.

The Madame scrutinized the glass, as if trying to see something else within it. The thoughts turned confused as well, and sensing this, she lifted her hand from his head as if she had struck him.

"And just how much deeper did he cut, this time?" Jenny asked, her voice laced with concern.

"A thirty-second of an inch deeper," Strax said dutifully.

The Madame eyed him with annoyance, and sighed, "That's not significantly deeper, Strax. That's not even noteworthy."

Noteworthy- a reminder that they recorded what he did. Not just things like _this _either, but whether he didn't eat, went somewhere out of the ordinary, or showed any sign of "getting better".

Strax then backed away from him and nodded at his handiwork. Though the Doctor refused to give in and look, he could feel bandages pressed against his arm, and slowly pulled down his sleeve. The Madame then pulled on his other arm, and forced him up.

"Jenny," she said, the quietness they had used earlier slowly being forgotten, "Tag down a cab; he's lost too much blood to walk."

The Doctor started to protest, "I didn't lose _that _much-"

"You lost more than you realize. You always do," the Madame cut in.

"My blood replenishes faster than-" he tried to argue, but the Madame looked him in the eye and all of his words died in his throat.

"That may be," she said, "But only when you're healthy: And you are not."

The Doctor wanted to contend that statement too- but as he took a step forward, he knew he could not protest. There was not just nausea, and other things that accompanied blood-loss, but something else that he could not think of the reason for.

"I can feel your confusion, Doctor," the Madame stated, "I still have a psychic link open. So I'll give you a hint: When's the last time you ate?"

The shame that the Doctor felt intensified. It hadn't peaked yet (it only peaked when they arrived at 13 Paternoster Row), but it was certainly almost there.

"Answer the question," she commanded gently.

"Yesterday, the day before?" he tried to answer.

The Madame didn't respond, instead dragging him forward to the main roads. Jenny had just signaled a cab, and the four entered it in silence. The Madame released her grip on his arm, and sat opposite of him, quietly, and tried to observe his reactions. They all were, but Jenny and Strax were being more subtle. Then, suddenly, his mind felt the presence of the Madame. It wasn't invasive, like it was before (even on a small scale), when she put her hand on him and gave him foreign thoughts, or when she established a link without his consent, but a request for entry into his mind. She was already there, but not to his immediate thoughts or hidden emotions or memories.

However, as he always did, he denied her entry, pulling up sturdier barriers between the parts of his mind she was not already in.

Then, surprising them both, he offered an explanation.

A cryptic phrase had entered his mind, and he gave it away to her freely.

_The Time War is locked- and every lock has a key._

The Madame, to her credit, took back her request calmly in understanding.

They arrived at 13 Paternoster Row a few minutes later (the distance was much to short for a cab, but they wouldn't let him walk there), and they led him to the door and sat him down in the drawing room and looked at him, as if trying to find something within him. As always, Jenny spoke first.

"Why haven't you been eating?" she started.

The Doctor didn't know why the Madame and Strax always let Jenny start, but they always did. Perhaps it was because Strax couldn't hold the conversation and the Madame already knew the answers. Though the explanation confused him. If she already knew the answers, then why did she want him to say it out loud?

"Doctor," Jenny stated firmly, knowing his thoughts were wandering, "Why haven't you been eating?"

He shifted uncomfortably. Then, he looked her in the eye and said, "I haven't been hungry."

A high-pitched noise started sounding.

"Don't lie, sir," Strax said. Then the Madame assured, "The ring is pitched just high enough to give you a headache if it goes on too long. It will stop if we manually stop it, or if you tell the truth."

The Doctor, feeling trapped, muttered, "I don't know."

The ringing stopped. "Why do you think?" Jenny pressed on, hoping for a good reaction.

So he tried to think of the reason- he honestly tried, but he couldn't think of anything.

"I don't know."

No high-pitched sound came, so the Doctor hoped they would let it go.

"Why did you cut tonight?" the Madame asked. That was an answer that she didn't know, because the answer changed every time he was asked.

However, there was always a definite reason; and he would be forced to admit it.

"I," he began, trying to put the incident into words, "I..."

Sensing his frustration, Jenny tried her own method of getting him to speak.

"Did you do something that caused this?"

A version of twenty questions, asking him this-or-that questions to get a description of what happened.

"Yes," he answered, because he didn't know what else to say.

"Did it involve people or things?" Jenny asked, trying to sound curious instead of concerned, like they were just playing a game.

"Was it violent?" Strax cut it at the same time, leading to both women to glare at him.

"Strax, be quiet!" the Madame ordered.

The Doctor, unsure of which one to answer, looked at them confused and stayed silent.

"Great," Jenny murmured to herself., "Now he's confused."

Then to him, "People or things?"

"People," he responded.

"Us?" she guessed, but he just shook his head.

"Who?" she queried.

"I don't know," he said redundantly.

"How many?" the Madame asked before Jenny could, as if predicting that Jenny would miss such and important question.

"Two," he replied, starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Were they young?"

"Very."

"So they were homeless then, or injured. Did you feel responsible for their situation?"

"Yes," he shrugged, as if it were obvious.

Jenny looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

"How could you feel responsible for something like that?" she demanded.

"I could have made child-abuse a major felony in the 17th century," he explained.

He expected them to be quiet again, like when he told them that his first murder occurred when he was seven, or when he claimed that he didn't like to think of them as friends, or when-

"You probably would have messed with time if you had," Jenny stated, like she knew it to be fact.

Her blind faith in him seemed oddly familiar, and then he remembered Rita and the others and his own selfishness and the guilt and shame started overtaking his mind and-

"Doctor!" the Madame said sharply, feeling his own mind turn against him. "Focus, Doctor. Focus!"

"What did I say wrong?" Jenny lamented.

"Nothing that I can tell, he just found something to twist against himself," the Madame assured.

Suddenly, the Doctor started shaking.

"Doctor, stop that!" she ordered, but he had no control.

Then as suddenly as he started, he stopped.

"Strax," she said suddenly, after a few seconds of him stopping, "Scan him."

Strax dutifully produced a medical scanner and proceeded to say, "He is suffering from blood-loss, dehydration, general malnutrition, low blood pressure, and low blood sugar. He just had a seizure."

"Will it happen again?" Jenny asked.

"It is possible, but not likely," he stated.

"What immediate treatments do we have on hand, Strax?"

"We have fluids and food, but that is it, Madame," he said.

The Madame eyed the Doctor warily. "You really haven't been taking care of yourself have you?"

"Does it matter?" he inquired snappily.

"Yes," she retorted, "You're our friend; and this is _wrong._"

The Doctor scowled. Why were they so intent on calling a monster like him a friend?

He couldn't answer why- his mind couldn't find a reason that he could-

BONG!

The Grandfather clock that they had within the drawing room struck eleven. He felt guilt to, because all three of them needed a proper amount of sleep.

They all looked the part too. Yet here they were, up fighting a useless battle for him. He didn't understand why though: He wasn't worth it.

"You three should go to sleep," he convicted.

They all looked surprised for a second, but it faded quickly.

The Madame smiled, "We will."

Then she stood and approached him and took his arm. He was confused when she didn't lead him towards the door. Where was she leading him?

She stopped him outside of a door.

"I need your coat," she told him.

He jerked his hid, "What? Why?"

"Your coat," she clarified, "So you won't do something undesirable."

Jenny and Strax had followed out of curiosity, and asked, "Madame, what are you doing?"

"We can't just let him go with his health like this," she said, "And he's also right- we need to sleep. So he's staying overnight."

The Doctor's eyes widened. "I'm _what?_"_  
_

"Staying overnight," the Madame said, rolling her eyes, "Now give me your coat."

The Doctor, stubbornly, shook his head, "I'm no staying overnight. I _can't _stay overnight!"

Jenny and Strax, sensing where this was going, rushed forward, and struggled to remove his coat for him, while the Madame asked, "And why can't you?"

"Because-because it wouldn't be _right!_" he exclaimed.

"Then I regret to inform you that isn't a good enough reason," the Madame said like a rejoinder.

He struggled for around a minute until she said to him, "If you continue fighting us, I fear that we will be forced to sedate you."

He stiffened, because the sedative they used was effective, but it had some desirable quality to it (as he would never tell them), while he was a terrible, evil, sickening creature, he would never willingly become a drug-addict.

They just assumed the after-effects were bad enough that he avoided them out of (healthy) fear. _Close enough,_ he thought to himself._  
_

So Strax removed his coat and took it away, and the Madame forced him into the room. It wasn't a normal room, but rather a larger closet with a bed in it. It had no window, only the single door.

"We created this room to be a protective-custody room," Jenny said. "We normally keep suspected targets 'ere."

"However, tonight, and any other night you stay here, you'll be in here," the Madame stated.

The Doctor felt a rush of fear overrun him, while he entered the small room. He wasn't sure if the Madame had felt it, but he was sure that they saw him freeze for a moment before he stepped forward.

"Goodnight, Doctor," Jenny bid.

The door closed and he heard a small rustling of metal. They had locked him in. That's why they didn't want him to have his coat- his sonic screwdriver.

There was no light in this room. It was completely dark. The doorknob most likely had a one-sided lock, and he wouldn't just kick the door down. (If he dared they would sedate him and keep him with them and it would be a great disservice in the long-run in the first place.)

So he was trapped. In this small, dark, suffocating, room. His heart-rates quickened as he remembered the last time he was locked with a small room-

_Greenlightsandtimestopsandyoucan'tdieeternaltortureMostFearedCreatureintheuniverseyourpeopleknewofyouGoblinTricksterlockedinthePandorica_

-and the voice was back. That was probably the worst part of it. He was locked up and the walls were closing in and he knew he wouldn't survive until morning-

_Whydoyoucareifyoudiewhat'swrongwiththatyoushouldjustcurlupinthecorneranddieandsparetheuniverseandendyourinterstellarreignofterrorandtyranny_

-but the voice would drive him insane and was the reason he paid penance even though it dismayed his friends. It told him terrible (true) things, and made him consider suicide (which was really, _really _bad because it burdened his friends even more while they watched him even closer than usual and he didn't have the tools and that made him despair).

So he tried not to think. He felt his way to the bed and removed his shoes and tried to concentrate on anything but the voice.

First he concentrated on the smells. It smelled like the bedding had been washed a few weeks before, but had recently been disturbed, and not from him. (For he had barely touched it.) It smelled like it had been put on the day before, perhaps sooner. That was odd- did they expect him? Or maybe they expected someone else and he was burdening them by using someone else's bed, which they would have to clean.

There was little else to be discovered by scent, so he concentrated on listening.

Approached the door and sat with his back to it, he listened carefully and could hear Strax just entering a room roughly 10 feet up and 30 feet away. He could hear the Madame and Jenny entering their own room, speaking quietly an equal distance.

"Are... sure this is..." Jenny said quietly.

"Yes," Strax said rather loudly, "He has crippling claustrophobia. Locking him in the room may encourage him to stop hurting himself."

"Strax!" the Madame scolded, "He has much better hearing than you would expect. Do be quiet!"

"Yes, Madame," he said in a quieter, but still very audible voice.

"We...ask him...tomorrow," Jenny suggested.

"Yes," the Madame agreed, "And...through his..."

"That would be a tactical plan of action, Madame."

"Very well...go...now," the Madame murmured.

Then the voices stopped and they all went to separate places, presumably to their own rooms.

So the Doctor went to his bed and meditated (never sleep) until the morning.

* * *

They didn't let him out until around 9 in the morning, but that didn't surprise him. He already concluded that they had sorted out what they wanted to do with him that morning (and had sorted through his coat as well).

Jenny, who was sent to retrieve him, looked at his disheveled appearance and concluded correctly that he hadn't slept. The Doctor shrugged and muttered quietly, "I don't sleep."

She ignored this and led him to the kitchen, where the Madame and Strax were waiting. Jenny stood behind him, in the doorway, while the other two remained standing in front of him.

Then Jenny put her hand on his shoulder, pointed at the chair near the informal table there, and whispered to him, "Sit."

He sat, but it made him feel quite small and inadequate, like when the Madame had him sit when he had cut and forced soothing thoughts on him (like he was a child).

Jenny then went to the stove and took a pan there, a dished watery oatmeal into a bowl and gave it to him, along with a spoon.

He eyed it, but only for a moment.

Then he looked at the three who were watching him intensely, silent.

"Eat, sir," Strax boomed, "It will be beneficial to your recovery."

He still silently refused, and continued staring at them.

The Madame sighed and sat down at the table, across from him. "We plan on speaking with you while you eat. However, if you don't eat, we will put you on a feeding tube and our talk will not be a negotiation, but instead a list of rules that I doubt you will enjoy."

The Doctor, sensing the gravity and seriousness of her words, looked away from the three and started eating.

"You're depressed," she began, "That's okay; it happens. People have acceptable ways to deal with this."

He glanced up to her to show her that he was listening.

"Self-harm is not generally treated as one of those ways," she said simply, "And we took your readings yesterday, from a blood-sample. You're production of endorphin is high, so you have a high pain-tolerance. High enough, in fact, that I doubt you perceived Strax's treatment of your lacerations as painful: And they are, as I have experienced, extremely painful.

"You're producing barely any melatonin, so your sleep-patterns are almost non-existent.

"You have low levels of serotonin, consistent with depression, but higher levels of dopamine, the "reward" chemical, so you're addicted to something. Along with this, they seemed to have had a spike when you were bleeding."

She looked at him, scrutinizing what his reaction to the next part might be, and said, "You're addicted to self-harm."

He shifted uncomfortably. He had suspected that, from the single time he was about to cut but resisted (and they had said they were proud of him), and the voice had become even louder, crueler, and more demanding; and he had felt even more helpless and depressed and the next time he had hurt himself he tried to kill himself (again).

"Some of those chemicals don't work quite that way, and I don't even _have _those chemicals!" he denied.

"Well," the Madame said with a flick of her hand, "What we can figure is your biological equivalent."

He shoved some more food in his mouth. Then he put down his spoon and looked her in the eye.

"I already knew most of that," he claimed.

"Even the addiction?" the Madame asked, surprised.

The Doctor looked down in shame and nodded.

She suddenly stood, "You _knew?_"

He nodded once more.

There was a tense wait, and then Strax spoke, "Sir, if you knew, then why did you not inform us?"

In response, he shrugged.

"You haven't finished eating," Jenny observed. "Negotiation will end when you stop."

So he picked up the spoon and started eating again. He was only around half-way done.

The Madame sat down again, thankfully, and spoke slightly calmer than she did before, "That brings us to the first thing we must discuss."

"And what would that be?" he asked nervously.

"You tell us if you have any sort of problem, and what the problem is," the Madame demanded.

"Not going to happen," the Doctor said.

Undeterred, the Madame went on to say, "Our ultimatum is that you come to us when you're distressed. That's the lowest we will go."

"That's practically the same thing!" he said, his voice sharpening.

"Don't use that tone with me," the Madame warned, once again reminding him of a child.

He merely shrugged. If he said "sorry", he was fairly sure that the high-pitched ring (that neither Strax nor Jenny _should_ have been able to hear, but Strax knew he was lying, so there must have been some sort of device that made the noise in the drawing room and if he found it-) would come on and cause him a migraine, which was something he did not want to negotiate with.

"So do you agree?" she asked.

"Do I have a choice?" he countered sullenly.

The Madame considered this, and then said, "We expected more of a fight. I presume your claustrophobia is what accounts for your agreeableness?"

The Doctor froze, and then asked carefully, "Is that a threat?"

The Madame smiled, "For all of our ultimatums."

"Then how is this 'negotiation'?" he scowled, before finishing his food.

"You can increase the expectations if you'd like," she reasoned.

"That's not negotiation."

"We're working to reach agreement. I call then negotiation," the Madame stated.

"That's the dictionary's definition too," Jenny added helpfully, as she came closer to him and took his bowl.

"How would this be any different if I refused to eat?" he wondered aloud.

"If you refused to eat, it wouldn't be negotiation," Jenny added again.

"And you'd have many, _many _more rules to follow," the Madame built. "You already got out of talking about your feelings, instead just informing us that they are there."

"I'll agree to every ultimatum then, Madame," he sighed.

"That's very well," she said before she added, "And how many times must I tell you? We are friends. Call me Vastra: I'm not your superior."

_Butsheisshedoesn'tpaypenaceshestandsaboveyousheisbettershehasrisenaboveaworldthathatesherfornoreasonsheissuperiorineverywayshapeandform_

"We only had one more anyway," she said, sensing his disagreement, in placation.

"And what is that, Madame?" he said, in a small act of rebellion.

"That you allow us to maintain contact with you," she said, looking him in the eye.

He nodded.

All three of them showed their agreement through a nod (the Doctor had entirely forgotten that Strax was there in the first place; he was being so quiet), and the Madame stood and walked to him.

"We'll check on your wounds again, you'll give us all of your contact information, and then you are permitted to leave."

* * *

So, and hour later, he was on his way to the TARDIS.

He was happy thinking, realizing that they weren't judging him: like he was inferior because of his weakness (as he had thought), but instead concerned and trying their best to _help _him. They were being kind. And they weren't _really_ questioning him. At least none of the important questions that he knew they had like "What happened?" or "Why did you come here?".

He was still recovering from the intense shame he felt when they treated him and cared for him (for the shame still occurred, even if he was content), when it hit him.

He had just _used _them. He wasn't able to convince them that he was a monster, but instead a victim.

_Ican'tbelieveyoudidthatyoushouldjustgoandkillyourselfrightnowwhilethey'renotepectingitandthey'llbesadforawhilebutitwillpassandtheywillberidofyouliketheyshouldbe_

How _low_ could he become? They already worried, and now he agreed to do something that would potentially worry them more-

_Youdidthatjustbecauseyouwereafraidyouselfishbastardhowcouldyoudothattothemitwillonlyendbadlyforthembecauseyoudareagreeoutoffearyousickanimal_

-and keep him healthy, which was very bad. Him not feeling the same pain physically as he did mentally would drive him insane:

_Alittlelateforthatisn'titbecauseyou'reamadmanwithaboxanddestroyedthegirlwhowaitedandthecenturianandtheirchildandthefatherofthecenturianwhosesonwillneverreturn_

Correction- violently insane. What if he _hurt _one of the three?

_Youalreadyhavebymakingthemworryandyouraisedyourvoiceandinfringeonthemandburdenandyouwillneverberedeemedfromthesinsyouinflictuponthem_

Briefly, he considered following through on the agreement he made with them, about going to them when he was distressed.

And he turned around.

Then, he took a step forward-

_WHATAREYOUDOINGYOUWORTHLESSEVILSTUPIDMONSTER!DON'TYOUDAREBURDENTHEMANYMORETHANTHEYAREBYYOUTURNAROUNDNOWYOUEVIL_THING

-And then he spun around, walking as fast as he could back to the TARDIS, hoping that the previous day and night had been a nightmare on one of the few days he decided to sleep.

* * *

**Hello, this is the Spirit of Gray. I'm dyslexic and not the best writer, so I'll appreciate any review I get.**

**The two quotes at the top were actually three from an anonymous dialogue about a hero who wanted to kill himself I found on this website ages ago that I can't remember the name of for scripts.**

**The full thing is:**

_**"Cogito ergo sum." "I think, therefore I am."**_

_**"Sed non esse volo!" "But I don't want to be!"**_

_**"Igitur non cogitare." "Then do not think."**_

**I got the title, "Then do not think" from this.**


End file.
